


Twisted Wheel

by ginnyT



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Bartender Castiel (Supernatural), Drinking, Flirting, Light-Hearted, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 00:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15449724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginnyT/pseuds/ginnyT
Summary: The Twisted Wheel was a popular club in Manchester in the 1960s, a place where hip, young Mods gathered together to dance and have a good ol' time. Dean decides to check it out on a quest for good whiskey, and is pleased at the sight of the attractive bartender, Castiel.





	Twisted Wheel

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pretty quick & easy read! For some reason, every time I heard the song “Feel It Still” by Portugal the Man, I couldn't help but picture this scenario between Dean & Cas. So here it is!

  1. _The Twisted Wheel._



Since its birth in 1963, the Twisted Wheel had been growing exponentially as one of Manchester’s most happening mod clubs.  Upon entering the front door, sounds of the latest rhythm and blues tunes would fill the air, inviting even the most reserved of patrons to pick up their heels and join the dance floor.

All of the young men who identified as “mods” and frequented the Twisted Wheel, more or less wore the same structure of outfit. Clean-pressed Ben Sherman button ups in a variety of colors and patterns, trousers tailored to the perfect fit, a skinny tie (of course), completed with either shiny wingtip shoes or a pair of sleek Chelsea boots.

On this particular evening, a boyishly handsome man – who was following the mod dress code to a T – pushed open the double doors of the Twisted Wheel and, in true fashion, was instantly draped in all its music and dancing. Live music tonight. The _thwack_ of the drums thundered through the air, the beat steady and utterly danceable.

Our man in question – Dean – began a bee line toward the bar, making his way past the throngs of people doing the twist, the jerk, and the watusi. As much as Dean enjoyed getting down on the dance floor, he also preferred to have a couple drinks in him first. _Then_ he could get out there and show everyone up.

Sidling up to a relatively empty bar area, Dean claimed his seat right in front of the bartender, who was turned around and busying himself with the bottles on the back bar. The bartender fit in completely with the feel of all the Twisted Wheel patrons, with his crisp white button up tucked into his tailored black trousers and – Dean leaned forward to peer over the counter top, eyebrows quirking up – very shiny black wingtips on his feet.

Dean had always been kind of a sucker for nice clothes.

Suddenly, the sharp-dressed bartender swiveled on his heels, a little too quick for Dean, who was still bent forward over the bar top. His eyes raised beneath his brows and locked onto the man in front of him.

The bartender gave Dean a lop-sided grin, his bright eyes making it unfairly difficult for Dean to tear his own away. The man glanced down at his shoes, then back up at Dean who was trying his hardest to settle back down onto his stool as if that awkward moment hadn’t happened.

“Can I get you something?”

_A whiskey neat and a paper bag to place my head in._

Dean decided to settle for just the whiskey.

“Any whiskey preference?” The bartender cocked his head, giving Dean the kind of smile that made him want – no, _need,_ to know his name.

“Anything off the top shelf. Surprise me…er…” Dean trailed off, hoping the silence would prompt him.

“Castiel. Cas.”

_Success!_

“Cas,” Dean repeated, flashing him his best dazzling smile. Cas returned the favor before turning around to busy himself with the whiskey.

Dean exhaled his initial embarrassment once those bright blue eyes were off him. It’s clear Cas wasn’t going to give him shit for being a weirdo who liked to ogle men’s shoes, so Dean just let it go.

A glass of whiskey appeared in front of him, cocooned by a strong-looking hand, Cas’ long fingers encircling the entire circumference of the glass. Feeling confident tonight, Dean flashed him another smile and reached for the glass before Cas could pull his hand away, letting the pads of his fingers graze the other man’s knuckles in the process.

“So, what might I call a guy who likes his top shelf whiskey neat?”

The bottles on the back bar glimmered a whole spectrum of colors against the lights of the Twisted Wheel, framing Cas in an almost halo-like effect. He braced his hands ( _those hands…)_ against the bar top and leaned forward. Dean took an unhurried sip of his drink, catching Cas’ eye as he did so.

“You’d call him wise.” He punctuated the response with a wink.

Cas cracked a smile at that, eyes dropping to the floor bashfully.

“Also - Dean.”

Dean couldn’t help but grin like a fool at the attractive bartender in front of him. Any random onlooker might have thought the pair of them were engaging in a stare-and-grin-like-a-madman contest.

Cas dropped his forearms to the bar top, enabling a more equal, eye-level gaze.

 _Okay, this guy is definitely into me,_ Dean thought to himself excitedly, taking another sip of his whiskey, eyes trained on Cas.

Just as he opened his mouth to spout one of his best, most charming, lines, Cas practically disappeared from in front of him. Bewildered, Dean tracked the bartender with his eyes, down to the other end of the bar, where a group of sweaty young adults crowded around, clearly parched and in need of libations.

Dean’s eyebrows knit themselves together, displeased with this turn of events. _Get your own cute bartender,_ he thought irrationally, knocking back what was left of his whiskey.

Despite his annoyance, Dean watched as the group inundated Cas with various drink orders. A Gibson Martini here, a Sidecar there, and a couple Gimlets over there. _How does he keep it all straight?_ He thought, utterly bewildered by the art of bartending. Although Dean nearly always ordered a whiskey neat – and if not that, a beer – he was fully aware that real bartending took serious knowledge and skill.

He watched as Cas’ hands danced along the back bar, relocating various bottles of liquor to his work station, grabbing multiple glasses of different sizes and shapes, and employing all kinds of fancy tricks and grand motions to create the final products for the eagerly awaiting crowd. Every drink order correct, every drink incredibly aesthetically pleasing.

Before long, Cas had sidled back up to where Dean still sat, laying his forearms down on the bar top and leaning in as he had before. Dean was still nursing his glass, even though it had been empty for a solid ten minutes.

“Can I get you another?” Cas inquired, tilting his head and giving Dean _the_ most attractive lop-sided smile he had ever seen

_Phwoar…_

“Only if it comes with-“

THUMP. Something had ricocheted into Dean’s left shoulder, causing him to abandon the rest of his line to Cas. He _had_ been planning to say, “only if it comes with a number I can reach you at.”

Dean jerked his chin toward his shoulder, eager to see what had ruined his smooth move.

A man attempting to flag down the bartender had materialized, quite ungracefully, to his left. His right elbow had dug straight into Dean’s shoulder.

Castiel, being a competent bartender, had Dean’s whiskey in front of him by the time Dean turned back around. Dean gave him a thankful smile, grabbed the glass, and was immediately shoved forward, this time from his right. Some of the crystalline amber liquid in Dean’s glass sloshed and spilled onto the bar top.

Dean’s lips pursed themselves together, and he huffed, hoping it was loud and obvious enough for the very unsteady woman on his right to notice.

She didn’t.

A couple glances behind each shoulder made it clear to Dean that now h _alf_ of the Twisted Wheel’s patrons were all trying to get Castiel’s attention at once. It was only then that he realized the live music had ceased to exist. The band was probably taking a quick intermission.

  
_Great timing,_ Dean grumbled internally, tossing back an uncomfortably large gulp of whiskey.

It was hard to catch Cas’ eye as the bartender somehow kept his cool under the influx of orders, even more than before. Every minute or so, Cas would glance up at Dean from his ministrations and flash that gorgeous lop-sided smile of his, though this time his smiles were accompanied by an air of apology.

Dean would sheepishly smile back, trying to hold out until his whiskey was gone – though that didn’t take long. It seemed that the crowd around him was steadily growing bigger, not smaller as he had hoped, and his hopes of resuming his chat with Cas were diminishing.

Soon, Castiel had become so busy that his apologetic glances toward Dean became few and far between. Dean knew Cas wasn’t ignoring him on purpose – but the waxing raucous crowd around him had become too much for Dean to endure.

With a firm hand, Dean placed his empty glass on the bar top before him, withdrew his wallet from his pocket, and fished out enough bills to cover the cost of the whiskey plus a generous tip. He didn’t feel up to being jostled around by the sweaty, rowdy patrons anymore, most of whom were all hopped up on Quaaludes.

Dean pushed through the thirsty crowd without so much as a glance back. Before long, he blew through the double doors of the Twisted Wheel, and practically fell into the cool night Manchester air. The cobblestone street glistened with reflections – apparently it had rained since Dean had been outside. It was still drizzling. The raindrops, if you could call them that, gently ghosted Dean’s cheeks and shirtsleeves.

“Manchester…rain…shocking,” Dean gruffed under his breath as he ducked into the Twisted Wheel’s alley way, fishing a cigarette out of his back pocket and sticking it jauntily between his lips.

He withdrew a silver Zippo from his other pocket, cupped his left hand around the open end of the cigarette, and lit it.

Inhaling the rush of smoke had never felt better.

 _Relaxation_ , Dean exhaled from the corner of his mouth, kicking a leg up to the brick wall behind him, and reclining back against it. _Solitude._

He tipped his face skyward and took a few more lazy puffs of his cigarette.

_Castiel._

Man, that had that been an unexpected twist to the night. The attractive – sexy, even – bartender, had been such a pleasant and unexpected addition to Dean’s simple quest for whiskey.  The way they had parted was less than desirable.

Dean took another drag of his cigarette and began to lament the fact that the bar had become so hectic before Dean had even a chance to ask Cas for his number.

As he inhaled again, a warm hand was suddenly placed on his shoulder - a stark contrast to the cold, wet drizzle from above.

Dean swiveled his head to his left, eyebrows rocketing skyward, a surprised puff of smoke exhaling into the dark night.

Castiel stood before him, cheeks flushed from the warm interior of the Twisted Wheel, no doubt having been overwhelmed by the needy patrons of the bar. He had clearly slipped out through the back door once the band had started the second half of their set. Dean could now hear the _thwack_ of the drums once again.

Cas didn’t say a word but outstretched his closed fist toward Dean. Puzzled, Dean’s brows furrowed downward with curiosity, abandoning their elevated place of surprise. The two men had locked eyes the moment Cas had appeared in front of Dean, and he had a hard time tearing his away to reach out his hand.

He held out an open palm, right beneath Castiel’s closed hand, ready to receive whatever Cas had snuck out here to give him.

Cas’ clenched hand opened, gently placing the object in question into Dean’s waiting palm. Dean retracted his hand toward himself and peered at what was newly there.

It was piece of torn-off napkin, with a string of numbers written on it in red pen.

Their eyes met again, this time with something more behind them.

Dean opened his mouth to say…well…anything in response. His agape lips gave way to a dangerously dangling cigarette, the end of which glowed red in their dark surroundings.

Before he could get any words out, Cas lunged forward and caught the side of Dean’s mouth in a kiss. Somewhat chaste, but -

 _Damn nice,_ in Dean’s opinion. A drumroll played deep in his stomach.

With not so much more than a cheeky grin (that wide lop-sided grin!), Castiel was gone, back into whatever alley door he had come from, and Dean was left gaping at the empty space in front of him.

He grinned despite himself, and leaned back against the cold brick wall, not even minding the chill as he caught his cigarette between his fingers and took an extra-long drag.

 _Looks like I have a date to call,_ Dean mused happily, admiring the swirls of smoke rising up and disintegrating into the dark sky. He cast his gaze downward at the crumpled piece of napkin in his hand once again, and smiled as he tipped his face skyward, resting the crown of his head against the hard wall. He closed his eyes and let that sappy (and hey, maybe just a little smug) smile spread across his face.


End file.
